


Lady Blue

by SmallStranger



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet, F/M, Romance, Victorian era, historical fiction - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-10-29 20:51:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10861854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmallStranger/pseuds/SmallStranger
Summary: "Loving him was like a summer breeze. Short, brief, and unsatisfying."He drew people's attention in like a moth to a flame. He was magnetic, enthralling, beautiful. He was the lone moon that shone brightly against the darkness of the night. But like that moon he harbored his own shadow. And in that place void of light he was sinister, devious, and calculating. He was the lone moon in the darkness, both cold and beautiful.And like all those who saw that moon, you can't help but long for it.





	Lady Blue

**Author's Note:**

> Short background before you read:  
> Alright so in this story [Y/N] has an older brother. His name is Louis. Why Louis? Cause I like it and I don't want to bother putting [your brother's name] in the story. Not all of you have brothers and honestly, I just don't really want to. Anyway...
> 
>  
> 
> The [L/N] household is a member of the Aristocrats of Evil so they know that Ciel is the Queen's Watchdog. Louis is currently the head of your household. Why not you? Because its periodically impossible as far as I know. Even if there had been a female head of the household I sincerely doubt she would be taken seriously by anyone during that era. That and if a noble passes away without any sons to inherit the title it would go to the noble's brother or to the eldest daughter's husband. If there are no siblings it would go back to the Monarch. So in this story you aren't the head but you still help along. Now that I'm done with my mini-rant let's proceed to the story!

        Bitterly, [Y/N] [L/N] wondered if all Phantomhives were heartbreakers. She remembered Madame Red and let out a snort. Yes… that was a sound theory. Closing her eyes, she tried to envision how the late Baroness lived. She imagined herself falling in love and watching the man she loved marry her own sister, imagined being a wife and a mother only to have those two titles yanked out of her life. She imagined Death stalking her shadow with Misery—fuelled by some sick perversity—tagging along.

        But she couldn’t.

        Instead, [Y/N] could only envision a boy, his pale face set in a hard line and his cold emotionless cerulean gaze slightly obscured by his bluish black bangs. She saw herself, head down, [h/c] tresses serving as a curtain to hide the flowing stream of tears.

          _“I couldn’t—”_

_"No. Don’t worry. I understand.”_

The rejection had hurt, hurt more than she could have ever imagined. It tore through her, stabbing her insides with a hot tipped knife. A burning sensation tickled her eyes and hastily she rubbed it away. Damn it, she was already expecting this. She was already expecting that he would reject her. But damn it all, why, _why does it still hurt so much?_

_‘Because you hoped that he would still choose you.’_

        She stifled back a sob.

        Was he sorry? No, of course he was sorry. She could tell. Even if his gaze was cold, even when it betrayed no emotion she could tell he was sorry. And that he also returned her feelings. Her breath hitched at the thought. He also loved her. But there was someone else who laid claim over him, someone who came before her, someone who he couldn’t possibly break. [Y/N] understood, of course she understood. That girl was his childhood friend, his blood and his fiancée. Their union was bound, acknowledged by Her Majesty and everyone around them.

        She clutched at her skirt, trying to stop her hands from shaking.

       She understood what breaking off the engagement meant. Embarrassment to the lady’s family, heartbreak to the silly, devoted, two-faced girl and more guilt on his part. He already had few people who he could live for, who cared for him, why lessen the number?

      She let her head fall back on the chair, her eyes drifting to the ceiling. She noted—with a bit of irony—how much its starbust design and twelve tails reminded her of a clock. The girl chuckled under her breath.

       Then again, both of them will end up heartbroken anyway. His life was timed and loving him was like a summer breeze. Short, brief, and unsatisfying. She laughed. Maybe Phantomhives are heartbreakers after all. This one though has broken two.

        At least his fiancée’s heart is yet to crack.

        Hers had already shattered.

*****

         Avoid him like a coward or face him head on with a turmoil of emotions? [Y/N] chose the first option.

        Ever since then she became the outside outlet of the household and drowned herself in the upper-class social life. She attended the balls and parties she hated, befriended those petty ladies she had scorned, and was in the hectic city called London more than she was at the peaceful abode of her home.

         _‘A real change’_ , people whispered. _‘The [L/N] household has finally opened their doors.’_

        No, she would never open the household doors. If she did she’ll see him, she’ll see her, she’ll see them together. Them in her house, in her ball, forced to greet them with a faux smile and talk to them after how long? Three months was it? Was it three months since she last saw him? [Y/N] couldn’t tell. She felt blind, as if someone covered her eyes with a cloth. And here she was, stumbling in the dark, arms outstretched and searching, searching for something.

        No, she’ll never open the household doors.

        She gazed at her reflection, checking for any mistakes in her outfit. A company partner was holding a ball, the invited boasting wealth and status. She had to look her best. She frowned, studying her reflection once more.

        The blue off shouldered gown hugged her figure, the black laced embellishments snaking at her hips, emphasizing the curves of her waist. White, blue, black satin roses decorated her coiffed hair. She lifted her hand, adjusting them. Roses have become some of her favorite accessories, especially white roses.

        So was the color blue.

*****

        Faking a smile, she greeted her guests while mentally cursing for her brother’s death, damnation, and complete misery in his lifetime. Moreover, she cursed the damn fiancée who unexpectedly arrived with him and had her arm looped around his as if taunting her. Taunting her of what she had that [Y/N] could never have.

         _‘That could’ve been you,’_ her pesky little mind whispered.

        She ignored the blonde’s rambling and apologies. There were other things in her mind. All of them shouting, crashing into her like an angry wave. She tried not to meet his eye and instead fixated her gaze to the space above the blonde’s head. Honestly, how long does that bloody girl have to ramble?

        “I’ve been engaged,” [Y/N] smiled, leading them to the drawing room. “Building relationships, attending balls, operas, soirées, those things.”

        This time she ignored his curious gaze, his gaze which was burning at the back of her neck; demanding her to turn around. Why should she? Why should she turn around and meet his eye when that was the whole damn reason why she attended those balls. Those balls they both hated, befriended those silly Victorians they scorned and succumbed herself to the busy, social life in London instead of the peace they preferred in the country.

        She didn’t want to meet his eye, one of the things she loves about him. He haunted her well enough, his ghost following her wherever she went. The blue dome above her head, the sweets and toys in the shops, the white sterling roses in her garden, and even in the books she read, books he liked and praised. They were all his ghost and she didn't want anymore of it.

Shakily, she smoothed down her dark blue skirt.

*****

        “What is it?" [Y/N] asked, glancing at her brother’s reflection as she fixed the navy blue hat she was wearing. The male stood by her doorway, silent and seething. Louis [L/N]’s face was set in a scowl, his fist nearly crumpling the white envelope in his hand. Yet, she wondered, why her brother’s eyes seemed sad, pitying, and apprehensive.

         “Is it an invitation?” she asked.

        “Yes…”

        [Y/N] waited for the older [L/N] to continue, raising an eyebrow when he didn’t. “Well? What is the invitation about?”

        Louis cleared his throat, fidgeting nervously with his tie. “It’s a wedding invitation.”

        “Oh?” A smile made its way to her lips and she turned her gaze back to the mirror. “That’s great! Whose wedding is it?”

        “His.”

        The invitation was a slap to her face, a blow running so deep that she was surprised the carpet wasn’t already stained, dyed with her crimson blood. Bitter, sour bile rose up her throat. She wanted to throw up. She felt like she was throwing up. Gagging, she ran to the toilet where promptly she vomited this afternoon's meal.

        She wondered whose idea was this. She wondered if perhaps his damn fiancée knew, suspected something and was now sending this invitation for mockery, taunting her, hitting her where it mattered most. [Y/N] closed her eyes and let out a laugh. Well it certainly worked.

        She sent her reply. She couldn’t attend the wedding.

*****

        It was a cloudy autumn night and the chilly wind that drifted past [Y/N]’s bare shoulders was a reminder that winter was fast approaching. Sighing, she wondered what it would take for the man next to her to leave her alone. Despite his persistence she didn’t find him annoying. In fact, she took it with grudging respect.

        Still, she didn’t deserve him.

        Once more she told him that she was in love with someone else.

        Once more he told her he didn’t give a damn.

        She wanted to laugh. It reminded her a bit too much of Madame Red’s story. She didn’t know if she should find it amusing or disturbing.

        And yet she knew she had to get married, knew that she couldn’t possibly stay in the manor. She was already eighteen, young, and expected to be married by the end of the year. Besides, how often does a Victorian woman come across someone who would take care of them?

        “You do know that I’ll be only using you,” she murmured, fiddling with her sapphire necklace.

        Again, he told her he didn’t give a damn.

        The next month they were married.

*****

        Is it really worth it to cry? How long ago it was, [Y/N] mused, since she first saw him. A smile crept up her lips. She first saw him in a graveyard. She remained where she was, hiding in the shadows as she watched the mourners crowd around his grave. When the news had reached her, her heart didn’t shatter, didn’t weep. No, he had already stolen hers when they were thirteen, broken hers the same age.

        But it still throbbed painfully as five years ago.

        And still her tears fell from her face as she knelt in front of his grave, the bouquet of silver sterling roses falling from her hands. Gloved fingers traced the letters etched on the tombstone. Slowly, she mouthed the name. _‘Ciel Phantomhive.’_

        Her throat clogged and more tears burst forth.

        She’s still in love with him. After six damn years she’s still in bloody love with him. And she’s crying, crying because she still loves him, crying because he loved her, crying because why, why is she not his. But most of all she cried because he was gone, bringing down her world with him.

*****

        “Why am I still here?” [Y/N] grumbled, peering at her brother. The earl was seated on the sofa across her, legs crossed and an impatient look gracing his face. He flashed his sister a glare.

        “You're here because I asked for you, [Y/N],” he snapped, lips curling into a frown.

        "Don't give me cheeky answers Louis," She retorted. She glanced at the watch on her wrist and let out a small sigh. "Must I be here? I'm sure you can handle the boy just fine even without me."

        "I'd like you to meet him," Louis said softly. The female scoffed.

        "I need not meet him. I swear Lou—" She was cut off by the sudden bang of the door which was followed by hastened steps. Turning in her seat, [Y/N] opened her mouth to speak...

        ...only to have her voice trail away.

        The lad in front of her was leaning against the table, his gasps echoing around the room. A mop of curly blonde hair bobbed along with his breathing and faintly she could hear him utter something that sounded like an apology. But that wasn't what made her freeze. What made her freeze was the dazzling shade of blue his eyes held, eyes that sent her mind drifting to memories about a blue-eyed boy. Her heart clenched. After a few seconds, the teen straightened up and offered the two [L/N]s an apologetic grin.

        "Forgive me for my tardiness, the carriage somehow turned the wrong corner on our way here you see, and we were confused on how to get back on the right street. Were you waiting long?"

        Louis shook his head. "No, no we weren't," he replied and stood up, [Y/N] following suit. Grabbing her hand, the older sibling stirred her forward. Smiling, he nodded towards the curly-haired teen.

        "Earl, my sister."

        Blue eyes drifted to you before widening, "Oh I know you!" The lad beamed, taking the older woman's hand and kissing her knuckles. "Mother mentions you quite often when this business comes up. She says you were very close with father."

        Her back stiffened. The male was bubbling, grinning ear to ear in a semblance of how his mother acted. But his eyes, good Lord his eyes. They reminded you too much of him. Swallowing, she nodded and forced a smile. "That's good to hear. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance Earl Phantomhive."

        "So to you, Lady Blue."


End file.
